Autumn

The dancing wind brushes autumn leaves

And deftly shakes them to release

A churning rainbow gently earthward.

High above some geese move southward.

A jagged line that moves and bends

As it's swept by the cold north wind.

The sound of their passing often falls

On ears that are listening for their call.

But sometimes now, more than before

It's covered up by the sounds of war.

The dancing leaves are never seen

As the modern war runs by machine.

Nolan L. Julian

1974

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